Happy Thanksgiving

We are at the beach in Ubatuba, São Paulo, Brasil.  

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.  

Love and enjoy your family and friends.  

Check back in a few days for the next blog.  

Ubatuba, SP, Brasil

A Weekend in Sousas

My husband Jeff and I spent the past weekend visiting with our friends Luiz and Sandra and their extended clan in the nearby village of Sousas.  It was a return trip for me since I had been there the previous weekend for the wedding of one of Luiz’ nephews.  This weekend the celebration was for his aunt’s birthday. 

The village of Sousas is situated an hour’s drive from where we live and about the same distance from the large metropolis of São Paulo.  Sousas is a relatively rural village adjacent to the larger industrial city of Campinas.  Both settlements were founded in the 18^th century to help supply the growing colonial city of São Paulo with the goods it needed.  By the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries, the region boasted many large fazendas (plantations) that grew sugar cane, coffee and cotton.  Trains from tiny Sousas and big Campinas carried coffee beans and other products to São Paulo, and on to the Atlantic seaport of Santos for export to Europe. 

A Pottery Studio in Sousas

While the surrounding area has developed a great deal, Sousas today is pretty much as I remember it from when I first saw it almost thirty years ago – lush vegetation, a winding river, beautiful old houses, artists' workshops and hilly, cobblestone streets.  The central praça or square is a shady tree-lined park along the river.  Across from the praça an open-air bar does lively business at all hours of the day and night.  Increased development has brought some great restaurants and one of the best bakeries I have ever experienced in Brazil!  But it has also brought traffic and a somewhat random collection of commercial development along the main road from Campinas into Sousas.

Luiz and his wife Sandra both come from large, extended and very generous families.  Most of the family members live in other towns and return to Sousas only for weekends or holiday celebrations.  Luiz’ mother and his sister-in-law still live in Sousas full time.  It is a welcoming and familiar venue where the food, the drink, the company and the talk are always rewarding.

Saturday morning, Jeff and I prepared for the weekend by going to our gym in Piracicaba.  We did a 45-minute spinning class followed by two 15-minute classes, one for abdominals and one (much needed) that consisted entirely of stretching.  A challenge of living in Brazil – and embracing the family and food oriented culture – is making sure to get enough exercise to offset many big meals!  Jeff and I go to the gym we joined at least four times a week and engage in a wide range of aerobic and weight training activities. 

The gym is a serious place where specially trained professors (as the instructors are called) guide your activities and ensure that you are achieving your physical goals.  The gym has been a blessing for both of us and has given us a true appreciation of how beneficial regular aerobic, strength and flexibility workouts can be when you are in your sixties!

Lunch started about 2 pm in the afternoon.  It was full of marvelous dishes.  Along with the leafy green salads, there was a Belgian endive and Mango salad; a potato salad; a wonderful eggplant and squash concoction – reminiscent of Ratatouille but more delicious; both pulled pork with onions and roast beef (filet) and a Lebanese rice dish.  The real prize was dessert.  Luiz is a remarkable cook and while his forte is perhaps Italian food, he is skilled at many of the extraordinary dishes that enrich Brazilian cuisine. 

Dessert was a type of crepe called tapioca.  It is typical of the northeastern state Bahia.  The dish consists of individual crepes made in the moment from manioc flour.  The coarse flour is white and the steps to make tapioca are simple.  First you heat a Teflon or other non-stick small frying pan.  Then, using no oil, and with a hand held sieve, you grate the loose flour into the pan until you have a consistently even layer of manioc.  Then you let it heat and the grains bind into a solid pancake – you then flip it and slide it carefully onto a waiting plate. 

The Chef!

The Finished Product

At this point you can add any kind of filling you like – either salty or sweet; fold it over like a quesadilla and dig in.  But on Saturday, it was a sweet filling.  Nutella!  Which if you don’t know is a creamy Italian chocolate and hazelnut spread.  Then you top it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and you are set to go.  Irresistible!  Luiz was busy at the stove for quite a while since we were a crowd of more than twenty.  I don’t remember anyone saying they didn’t want tapioca!

The Old Railroad Bridge

Later Jeff and I wandered into town and I showed him the lovely church where the wedding had been the week before.  We crossed the bridge where the old railroad had gone – now a walking bridge.  We hugged the railing as a peloton of more than thirty cyclists from the Campinas Cycling Club crossed over at the end of their Saturday ride.  We revisited the praça where we celebrated Carnival when our children were one and four – we remembered wild dancing and loud music; all of us beating or shaking empty metal cans filled with dried beans.

Soon it was time to dress for the birthday party.  We hurried to shower and dress.  Dinner was a traditional churrasco or barbeque.  The birthday lady was not going to cook, instead, quite appropriately, depending on her son-in-laws, grandsons and nephews.  Perhaps more than in the United States, Brazilian men are the barbeque chefs.  In fact I have never met a Brazilian woman who cares to admit she can light a barbeque.  I agree!  What is the point of having a husband, brother or son if you have to “man” the barbeque?

On Saturday night, the men manned the churrasco – an outdoor brick open-style barbeque.  We started with Portuguese sausage; continued with many other kinds of Brazilian linguisa (sausage); followed by various cuts of chicken and finally picanha – a cut of beef that is succulent and delicious.  Brazilians do not remove the meat fat until after cooking is complete – juiciness is guaranteed.

The churassco continued well into the night.  Each cut of meat came in sequence.  Different men and teenage boys handed the meat around on platters right off the fire.  We sat at long tables on the covered porch.  We ate salads and meat and drank beer and wine until we were too full to eat anything else.  But of course we still had the birthday cake!

Breakfast Breads

The next morning, after a typical Brazilian breakfast of coffee, fruit, bread and butter, the teenaged girls, their mothers and me went to the Hippie Feira (fair) in nearby Campinas.  The feira started in the 1970’s and while it has changed over time, it still has an authentic artisanal atmosphere.  It is located in an old park where large trees give cool shade.  Like lots of outdoor street fairs, some of the kiosks sold machine made junk while others sold handmade treasures.

We found a stall selling handmade dresses, skirts and shirts – all made from a fine silk-cotton fabric in a wild range of floral and geometric patterns.  There were many different styles.  The proprietors had a full-length mirror so you could see if the piece worked.  I bought a dress in a climbing rose pattern with all my favorite colors – greens, reds, and pale pinks.  Everyone found something good – a hand-woven backpack, navy and white striped espadrilles, a hand-painted mirror with the image of espirito santo – a white dove decorating it.  Sandra bought a hand-made rag doll for her 7-month-old niece. 

We hurried back to Sousas for lunch.  I don’t have to tell you it was another feast.  This time lunch was a classic polenta with a marinara sauce that included linguisa from the previous night.  Salads, fresh fruit and ice cream rounded out the meal.  As people who have a large family, Jeff and I are quite experienced at feeding 20 and 30 people at the drop of a hat.  But Luiz and his family are serious competition.  They are all good cooks; their skills range from Italian (and other southern Mediterranean countries) to all types of Brazilian and Lebanese cuisine (Luiz’ uncle was born in Lebanon).  

The afternoon was winding down but we still had one more important event.  One of Luiz’ cousins, Renata has been studying film for a few years.  She had prepared a lecture and video presentation about the importance of Russian film in the evolution of cinema.  We all assembled in the living room on couches and chairs in front of the big flat screen TV and laptop.  Renata ducked outside and her brother-in-law introduced her quite formally.  She entered to our applause and proceeded to give a well-prepared and extremely interesting lecture on the influence that a Russian film director from the 1920s, Dziga Vertov had on the evolution of film. 

The range of cinematic techniques this director pioneered in his famous film Man with a Movie Camera are routine in modern films – fast and slow motion; split screens; freeze frames; extreme close-ups and so forth.  However in 1929 they were anything but usual.  Renata explained and demonstrated with video clips how the cinematic techniques created the emotions that drove the story – anticipation; fear; excitement; the pressure of hard work.

The afternoon ended as everyone shared a final cafézinho and thanked Renata for putting a very stimulating presentation together.  Jeff and I drove home with great food in our bellies and thought-provoking ideas in our minds.

The Atibaia River seen from the Praça

Retirement Bumps and Living in Brazil

There are certain things that are quintessentially Brazilian for me.  Monday morning I woke up to one of them.  It was the smell and the faint haze on the horizon of burning sugar cane.  Perhaps this smell is rare nowadays since the practice is being phased out to avoid air pollution impacts.  But there it was.  It took me back.

The smell of burning sugar cane evokes living in Brazil more than 25 years ago when I was pregnant with our second child and playing in the yard with our then 2-year-old son – splashing water at each other in the afternoon heat and wondering what that faint scent was.  I knew I had never smelled it before.  Later I found out it was the smell of burning the sugar fields before harvest.  

My memory was tinged with feelings of sadness and happiness…nostalgia for times gone by when my son was just a little boy but happiness for the fun we had and the strong friendships we made all those years ago.  Now our son is a grown and very capable married man and our Brazilian friendships are stronger than ever.

The past week has been a series of good and difficult times for me.  Sort of like the memory of the sugar cane smell.  Periods of feeling at a loss as to how to handle the day, followed by having a wonderful time re-connecting with some long term friends at a family wedding (theirs not mine!) this past weekend.  

Curiously my two different emotions are inextricably mixed together – reminiscent of finding that at one moment you are laughing and then, at the next, crying.  There is a Brazilian word – saudade that doesn’t really have a perfect translation into English.  It isn't just nostalgia.  It is neither happiness nor sadness alone.  It is both emotions tied together in a memory, a longing for things past and present.  The week was full of saudade - or at least, what I, as a non-Brazilian believe saudade to be. 

I chose two transitions all at once – retirement from a very busy and fulfilling career and moving to Brazil – for three months this year and more in the future.  Many of my American friends and family were jealous.  Wow they said.  You are so lucky.  And realistically that is true.  But there are days when I miss autumn in the Pacific Northwest – the end of season roses and tomatoes in my Seattle garden; Indian summer weather and pumpkin patches in the Skagit; pulling on a favorite sweater and digging warm socks out of the bottom of my sock drawer.  I miss picking Washington apples and making a perfect apple pie.  

I love my adopted Brazilian town but being newly retired and being even a short-term expat can have its ups and downs.  So how did I make it through the hardest day of the week – Friday?  Well I definitely started out with a big café com leite.  Actually two.  I put on a pair of sandals and walked down the street to the nearest manicure/pedicure shop.  After having a relaxing mani/pedi, which I was sorely in need of (I had a wedding to go to after all…), I went to the local padaria (bakery), bought two lovely whole-wheat rolls and some buffalo mozzarella cheese.  Back at home I made myself a cheese and tomato sandwich.  How bad can life be if fresh rolls, buffalo mozzarella, sliced tomatoes and salt can all be combined together?  Not too terribly bad. 

I knew I needed to get some exercise.  Endorphins are amazing creatures and getting them moving through your body can do wonders to cheer up even the darkest day.  We had borrowed a mountain bike from a friend when we first arrived.  My husband had taken it to a local bike shop for service.  It was time to pick it up. 

Biking in Piracicaba, in fact in any city in Brazil, is SCARY.  The streets are narrow and full of ruts and potholes; surprisingly big fast cars tend to dominate.  I put on my bike helmet and gloves and rode carefully on quiet side streets to the university campus.  Perfect.  Wide boulevards.  Little traffic.  Gorgeous vistas.  It was Friday afternoon.  I rode around the whole campus.  It was hot but lovely.  Students were relaxing on the lawns.  The sun was shining.  People were out strolling. 

The ESALQ Campus

I was on my second circuit when a campus policeman pulled me over.  This was not terribly difficult since he was on a motorcycle and I was on an old mountain bike.  It turned out that there is a rule on the campus that no one can ride bikes except students who are going from one class to another.  I was flabbergasted.  Using my best Portuguese I told the policeman that I was a foreigner and my husband was a visiting professor and I did not know this rule.  He was clearly embarrassed and so was his cohort who had arrived soon thereafter.  The second policeman was also on motorcycle.

Now I am a less than 120-pound 60-something woman.  I was on a 20-year-old Trek mountain bike.  I had on my helmet.  Clearly I could be dangerous.  So I was reassured to see that they sent two pretty large cops on big motorcycles out to get me.  And by the way, they caught up with me right beside the entomology building.  It is a quiet corner of the campus where the mounted police likely thought they could subdue me without witnesses if I protested when they told me I was breaking the rules and needed to leave immediately. 

The Offending Trek

In the end of course, I acquiesced.  I told them I would leave the campus.  Without making more trouble.  But of course I had no idea of the shortest route off campus so I had to ride around a bit more to figure that out.  Now the Trek is waiting in my spare room while we negotiate the university bureaucracy and get permission for me to ride on campus.

There are a few things that retirement and living abroad share and these are not necessarily all good.  The good things are obvious – time; living in a (hopefully) new and interesting land; the opportunity to immerse oneself in a new culture, its food and music, and, in my case, given our history in Brazil, re-connect with long term friends.  But what about the bad things?  These are the inverse, and perhaps less obvious until you are in it – too much time; a somewhat unfamiliar place; language barriers, often feeling like a stranger and being overly dependent on my Brazilian friends.  Ahh yes it’s the yin and yang of life.  How is it that every silver lining has a cloud? 

I was on the cloudy side much of last week.  But by dint of continuing with my program – studying my Portuguese; working on my writing; going to the gym and exercising; cooking healthy food – I seem to have rebounded.  Of course all of these emotions could have happened in Seattle.  There is something that I think is super important.  Whatever you are doing, wherever you are, have a program even if very basic.  And stick to it in moments of doubt.  Do the laundry.  Sweep the floor.  Get some exercise.  Eat healthy food.  Go to work (or if you are retired like me take up one or more activities that use your mind and that you more or less enjoy – for me this is learning Portuguese and writing stories).  The blues will dissipate.

Still working on how to age gracefully.

  

Sitio Cabra Feliz - The Happy Goat Farm

A few years ago our friend Reynaldo and his wife Bea, who live in Piracicaba, retired and purchased a small farm about 30 kilometers away.  Reynaldo wanted to make goat cheese and couldn’t find a reliable source of goat milk.  Plus, like any new retiree, he needed a project.  So he bought a farm and more than fifty goats!  Prior to retirement, Reynaldo was a professor of agronomy so the shift was not as radical as you might think. Nevertheless moving from academia to farming is a big change no matter what your field.  Today, much to everyone and especially Reynaldo’s delight, the farm is thriving and produces magnificent food.  

The farm is called Cabra Feliz or Happy Goat.  There is an old saying in Brazil that when a man retires and spends his days relaxing and enjoying himself, he is a cabra feliz, i.e., a happy goat.  The farm’s name embraces both our friend’s disposition and that of the goats perfectly.  Not that Reynaldo has much chance to relax.  There are now more than 100 happy goats on the farm.  

And that isn’t all.  There are at least 10 very large, currently pregnant, sows (the little piglets come and go with the birthing and butchering seasons); a flock of guinea hens running everywhere and pecking in the dirt; one very proud rooster; platoons of large ducks and even larger geese; three ponds full of tilapia; and a random collection of farm dogs.  The queen of the dogs is Reynaldo’s black and white border collie, Lola who theoretically herds the goats.  In practice I think she drives them nuts by barking at them and herding them in a somewhat willy-nilly fashion.  

   

Lola in high gear!

The place is a serious undertaking.  The farm spreads over a hilly landscape, with multiple fields in various stages of growth, re-growth and grazing.  Reynaldo grows elephant grass for the animals to eat in the barns and other softer grasses for grazing in the pastures.  The animals are distinctly free range and all milking is done by hand.  The farm literally hums with sound – rooster crowing, hens clucking, kids bleating, pigs snorting and dogs barking mix with the noises of farm machinery and wild bird song.  In the evening, the clatter of harmless beetles crashing into the veranda as they seek out light accompanies the cocktail hour. 

 There are more than 100 banana trees in one field and many mango and other fruit trees scattered around the property.  Reynaldo’s wife Bea, a retired musician and active quilter, manages the vegetable and flower gardens.  In addition to herbs, tomatoes, beans, onions, spinach, arugula, leaf lettuce, pumpkins and squash, she grows roses, impatiens, geraniums, orchids, and one token coffee bush.  She has all sorts of tropical perennials and flowering bushes and trees that I can’t identify.  At the main gate there are two large bougainvillea bushes and a tree-size dracaena – currently in full bloom - as well as big palm trees everywhere.  Perhaps my favorite trees at the farm are the spectacular blooming flamboyants.  These trees, sometimes known as coral trees, erupt into glorious flaming coral flowers in November and December. 

The farm has many buildings as well as the main house and a house for the farm manager and his family.  There are the main goat barn; a small barn for when the kid (baby goat) population soars and a separate barn for the breeding bucks – it is not a good idea to keep male goats in the same barn as the females and the kids.  Male goats are a randy lot.  Beyond the need to manage goat genetics for desirable traits, no goat farmer can afford to ignore the perils of incest.  The farm also has a pig barn; a chicken coop; a butchering shop for both young male goats and pigs; and a queijaria – or cheese dairy where the goat cheese is made; and various small storage and equipment sheds. 

Reynaldo employs three people full time to keep the operation going and a part time helper for the gardens.  The farm manager cannot read but is as knowledgeable about animal husbandry as anyone.  He also directs the recycling of virtually everything on the farm.  All goat and other animal waste is composted and used for fertilizing the fields.  The composting system is remarkably efficient – the goat wastes drop between wooden slats that form the floor of the goat barn to a lower level where the actual composting takes place.

The main goat barn

Goats are gentle, sociable animals.  Despite all the activity, the goats give Cabra Feliz a peaceful, tranquil air.  When you approach a group of goats, they all want to get into the picture.  

They move gracefully together, arching their elegant necks over each.  They love the hills and eat whatever grows.  The small kids graze with their mothers and call to each other during the day in small, soft bleats.  They are Nubian goats – the best milk producers.  They have long lap ears and perky tails that bounce up and down when they run across the field.  When they become separated, they gambol across the field until they find their mothers again.  It is a continuing process of grazing, moving, finding new grass, grazing and moving again.

The Queijaria

The Queijaria is one of my favorite places on the farm.  It is fully set up with space and equipment to pasteurize the milk, make multiple types of cheese, age, and after aging, package the cheese.  Reynaldo and Bea visited artisanal goat cheese farms in France.  They modeled some of the cheese making after practices they saw there.  Reynaldo specializes in chevre (French style goat cheese).  Recently he has been experimenting with using activated charcoal ash.  The ash makes the cheese surface more hospitable to the growth of molds that improve the flavor of the cheese.  He makes several other types of cheese also including a queijo fresco or fresh cheese that is preserved with salt, goat Gouda, goat Parmesan and lately a Parmesan style cheese with Roquefort veins.  It is still aging but based on the other cheese he makes, it will be delicious.

Reynaldo makes his own bacon, his own prosciutto and multiple types of sausages from bratwurst to summer sausage to a goat meat and pork fat linguisa.  Needless to say there are fresh eggs and milk every day and a wide range of different cuts of meat available.  It is unrealistic to have more than three or four bucks in a herd of 100 goats so the roughly fifty percent of kids born male end up heading to the table before they are six months old.  The piglets are bred for meat. 

We spent the weekend there recently and left loaded up with goodies – three kinds of goat cheese, two liters of fresh goat milk, a dozen farm fresh eggs, a pork shoulder, a package of bratwurst and a package of fresh cabrita linguisa or goat sausage that I helped Reynaldo make that morning.  Along with the selection of fresh herbs and greens I picked and stuck in my grocery bag, I had enough to keep Jeff and me fed for much of the next week.